Curse of Bloody Mary
by Akktri
Summary: A spinoff involving new characters and some old ones.
1. Chapter 1: Bloody Mary

The girl's bathroom was dark, illuminated only by a couple candles on the marble counter. Two girls in Catholic school uniforms, a blonde and a brunette, stood in front of a mirror, twisting the faucet handles on and off, on and off. They flushed the toilets exactly ten times, then returned to the mirror.

"Bloody Mary," said the blonde.

"Bloody Mary," said the brunette.

They flicked the light switch on and off, then chanted the words again.

Suddenly a glowing red face appeared in the mirror.

The girls took one look at it and screamed, running for the door.

They tried the handle, but it wouldn't open, even though it didn't actually have a lock.

When they looked back, they saw a swirling vortex appear in the glass, and a powerful vacuum sucked the air out of the room, tugging on their clothes, pulling their hair, unraveling the rolls of toilet paper from the open stalls, drawing everything impossibly toward the mirror.

The force gained intensity, the girls sliding with a scream across the tile floor.

They grabbed hold of the supporting posts beneath the stall doors, legs flying in the air like they were in a wind tunnel.

A roll of paper towels slid off a shelf, slamming into the brunette's head.

She let out a scream as her hands involuntarily let go of the stall.

"Jackie!" the other girl shouted, but she was too afraid to move.

Jackie's body flew over the sink, her hands flailing at anything that could possibly offer purchase.

"Becky!" she cried, but her friend was in no position to stop her.

"Help!" she screamed in hopes of being heard from outside.

Her fingers caught hold of the lip of the marble counter, but it was wet, and her feet went through the mirror.

The mirror didn't shatter. Instead, it rippled and her feet disappeared.

She slipped, and her calves went in.

She grabbed the faucet, but it was hot. Scalding hot, like it had just been poured into a mold at a faucet factory.

She let go with a scream, her entire body vanishing into the mirror.

Now in tears, Becky kept holding on to the stall.

For a moment, the air seemed to settle, but then the horrible red face appeared right next to her, and she let go with a scream.

She flew backwards and her head hit the counter.

She fell unconscious, hurtling limply through the rippling mirror.


	2. Chapter 2: Maurice Schwann

The building was brick. Typical barn-like church architecture. The sanctuary connected to a long square structure with a basketball court and windows cluttered with educational bric-a-brac. The words Christ The King School were carved into the stone divider between the bricks.

A pair of men stood near the double doors at the rear, illuminated by a single flood light.

"Mr. Schwann, thank you for coming on such short notice," said one of the figures, a squatty fat man in a black outfit and clerical collar. "I called the Ghostbusters, but they're away in New York handling some ghost or another. I've heard of your Communiversity courses, so I figured you're the next best thing. No offense."

"None taken."

The man who had been called was named Maurice Schwann, author of several books on ghosts and the paranormal. He had a head of gray hair, sharp blue eyes and a bird-like nose. He'd been walking the dogs with his wife at the time he'd been called, so in each hand he held a leash, a huge yellow labrador on his left, a big husky on his right. The canines strained against the leashes, generally refusing to stay still.

"I'd be delighted to help. What are we working with?"

The priest visibly trembled, pushing a door open.

Schwann tugged his dogs in that direction, and they bolted through the opening.

"Wait!" the priest cried. "You can't take pets in there!"

"They're spirit seeing dogs," Schwann replied, dashing in before he could be stopped.

The dogs sniffed their way down the polished tile floor, poking their nose into corners, pausing at lockers, ripping papers off the wall.

They found one locker particularly fascinating, so much so that they would not leave the door.

"Aha!" Schwann shouted. "I found something!"

The priest was out of shape, and it took him a full minute to huff over to him. "I must insist that you leave those dogs outside!"

Schwann ignored him, pointing to the locker. "Can you open that up?"

With a shrug, the priest pulled out the master key and did so.

Inside was a bucket of Kentucky Fried crispy chicken, which the dogs immediately buried their muzzles into.

Schwann pulled a rolled up newspaper out of his plaid coat, smacking the lab in the head. "Sunshine, no! Bad girl!"

"Take those dogs outside! I'm not going to ask again!" the priest screamed.

Suddenly, he fell silent, staring at a plastic bag resting on a pile of soiled laundry.

At last he said, "Is that marijuana?"


	3. Chapter 3: No Pets Allowed

"I'm sorry to bother you at such a late hour," the priest was saying into his cel phone as he followed Schwann into the girl's restroom. "But well, we found marijuana in your son's locker." He paused. "Yes, it was a routine inspection, and we found it there." Another pause. "Now really, Mr. Guzman. I'm a man of the cloth. What motive would I have for planting drugs in your son's locker?...Hello? Hello?" He frowned at the phone.

Schwann flipped a light switch. "You said that the ghost was connected to these disappearances?"

"No I did not. I said that two of my students had vanished, and there were reports of ghosts in this bathroom."

"Hmmm..." Schwann picked on a glob of wax stuck to the marble countertop. "Were these candles here before the disappearances?"

His yellow lab urinated on the floor.

"Are you going to clean that up?" the priest growled.

"Eventually. What do you make of these candles?"

The priest crept red faced around the spreading puddle. He gave the candles a cursory glance. "Those are black candles," he said. "Someone must have gotten them from one of those occult bookstores."

Schwann turned a candle upside down. "Scary's Halloween Outlet," he read.

"Well, I'll unlock the janitor's closet."

"Good idea. There might be some spectral activity in there."

Schwann dropped the leashes and took out a cel phone, pushing buttons.

"Who are you calling?"

"Nobody. I have an app that measures psychokinetic energy."

The priest frowned at the dogs. "They don't bite, do they?"

Schwann waved the phone at the stalls, producing a low humming sound. "Not usually."

"I know I probably shouldn't ask a question like this, considering your absolute lack of professionalism, but how exactly can you use a game on a cel phone to find ghosts?"

Schwann waved it around the sink and the noise raised in pitch. "It's a similar principle to EVP. The receiver picks up disturbances in the air particles and the camera picks up invisible energy signatures with modified software."

"I see," the priest frowned.

Schwann pointed the camera at the mirror, and the humming turned into a high pitched whine. "No. *I see*."

He grabbed the mirror frame, feeling along the edges. "How long have you had this?"

The priest shrugged. "That's been there since the school has been built. Why?"

"I'd like to take it home to do a few tests, if I may."

"You may not!" the priest scowled. "This is ridiculous! Give me one good reason why I should even pretend to consider your suggestion!"

"There is a high degree of psychokinetic energy surrounding this object. I'm certain this has something to do with the ghost sightings that have been reported in this area."

The priest's eyes narrowed. "That mirror is worth at least fifty dollars, plus your dog just crapped on my floor."

Schwann replied by elbowing the mirror as hard as he could. It didn't shatter.

"Stainless steel. You can't keep nice things around the kids. Or bumbling oafs like yourself."

At this point, something just snapped in the priest's mind. "Out."

"What?" Schwann stammered.

"You heard me! Remove yourself from these premises at once before I call the cops!"

"Fine," Schwann smirked. "I wish the best of luck to you with your ghost problem."

And he led the dogs to the door.

"Be careful where you step!" he said as he marched out. "I think there might be a couple landmines!"


	4. Chapter 4: Louis Tulley

Schwann left the building with his dogs and a mocking sneer. Having completed his business at the school, he resumed the route he normally took to exercise his pets, a long stretch of sidewalk along a row of large stone houses that the upper class lived in.

His eyes caught a glimpse of red and white on the door of a Honda Civic, but he ignored it until he found himself being approached by a slack jawed man with Coke bottle glasses and a brown polo with a red-white logo on it.

Schwann stared at the red circle with the crossed out ghost in the center, then looked up at the stranger's pointy nose.

"Hi," the man said. "Your wife told me you'd be going this way. Schwann, right?"

"Yeah," he said uncertainly.

The stranger offered his hand. "Louis Tulley. Public relations for Ghostbusters LLC. Listen. I've heard good things about your contributions to parapsychology and the paranormal and I really think we should get together some time to discuss the opening of a Ghostbusters franchise here in Kansas City." He handed him a little square of paper. "Here's my card. You can ignore the information about the Japanese restaurant on the back. I get a tax credit for advertising local businesses and their food really isn't bad. Say, do you use those dogs as part of your ghost hunting operations? If so I think I can help you with some deductions..."

"Did Father McGuire call you?"

Tulley gave him a blank look. "Who?"

Schwann frowned. "Never mind. You're really with Ghostbusters."

"Yes sir. Remember that time when the Statue of Liberty was stomping through Manhattan? I was there! I knocked a hole in the protoplasm covering the museum and helped the guys escape. It was great!"

Schwann rolled his eyes. "So why are you here?"

"The New York location is overstaffed, and they got tired of traveling across the country to investigate minor spooks. The way I see it, I'm doubling my income because I'm still on as retainer for their legal, tax and financial affairs, plus I get commission for any-"

A scream suddenly punctuated the air.

"What was that?" Schwann blurted.

"What was what."

Schwann frowned. "Someone screamed."

Tulley pointed at a spot beyond a copse of trees. "Do those clouds look funny to you?"

Schwann turned in that direction and saw swirling purple clouds, oddly bright and ominous shapes that stood in sharp contrast with the dark sky. "Looks like it's coming from Christ the King."

He led his dogs back the way he came.

"Wait," said Louis. "Let me get something out of the car."


	5. Chapter 5: Lottie

At twelve years of age, the little brunette girl with the pigtails had discovered a molecule previously unknown to the entire scientific community, or history, and the only thing she had done was move a few wooden sticks around on an atomic model.

Since then, she had discovered a new constellation, developed a smaller, more efficient device to search for radio signals on other planets (as well as strangers' phone conversations), permanent lipstick, and a compound that very slightly weakens the radioactivity of uranium.

Lottie Anderson, child prodigy. That's what the papers said.

Her first discovery took her out of grade school and into college on a full ride scholarship. The rest was just play.

At present, she stood in a high tech chemistry lab in the basement of Rockhurst University, dressed in a lab coat and goggles, with a test tube in each hand.

She stood in front of a lab table fitted with a mounted section of a filthy pipe from a bus station.

Slime absolutely oozed down the sides of the pipe, and if one looked down the business end of it, they'd see evidence of a long history of grease dumping, shaving, and the disposal of a whole barber shop's worth of hair. On a cross section, it resembled a clogged artery in a coronary patient.

Behind the table, Harold Eiffler, her chemistry instructor, stood staring at the contraption through a pair of a pair of battered hornrims with protective lenses clamped over the front. Instead of a coat, he wore a hideous yellow plaid shirt and high water pants with suspenders. He had the physique of a a coat rack.

Lottie climbed up on a step stool, poising one of her black rubber gloves over the top of the pipe. "Adding Compound B."

Harold nodded, notating something on a clipboard.

She poured a purple liquid in, creating a small puff of steam. Harold scribbled down an observation.

Lottie raised the other vial, dumping it in quickly. "Introducing Compound A."

At first, the reaction was like a foaming pipe snake, or a kid's science fair volcano. A lot of white foam dumping out the end of the pipe, and all over the table.

That in and of itself would have been fine, but at this point, the experiment went awry.

Without warning, the foam burst into flame, and the section of pipe turned into a blowtorch. The foam that hit the table blazed like lit gasoline, dribbling off the marble table top in a manner similar to hot napalm.

Seeming to expect this, Mr. Eiffler calmly pulled out a fire extinguisher, spraying it at the conflagration.

What he didn't plan for, however, was for those very fire suppressing chemicals to catch fire, turning the extinguisher into a flame thrower.

Worse, he found the flame could somehow crawl up the stream he was spraying, and with alarming speed.

When the fire jumped inside the red metal tank, he only had a second to throw it in the corner, pull the fire alarm, and shove himself and the little girl behind a lead shield.

The extinguisher exploded like a hand grenade, destroying a lab table, a glass cabinet full of scientific equipment, and a whole shelf of dusty textbooks.

The brilliant phosphor bursts did not bode well for anyone in the lab, but fortunately for the experimenters, at that precise moment the ceiling sprayers kicked on, and the whole room got a shower of dihydrogen monoxide.

It seemed that water was still not flammable.

Shaking with fright, and looking like a pair of drowned lab rats, the prodigy and teacher slowly peered over the desk, taking in the disastrous results of the experiment.

Oddly enough, the drain replica was still standing. Harold approached it with caution, staring down the opening.

"Well," he said. "You did clear the drain. The bad news is, the plumber will never again be able to take the pipe apart."

"Let's develop it as a lighter fluid," the girl said.

Harold nodded, jotting down a few more notes.

Lottie didn't really have anyone to eat with at lunch. The other students were all adults, twenty years old or older. She couldn't relate to any of them.

Her parents were both working, and the assumed she'd be safe enough as long as she didn't stray from public places.

And so she sat in the cafeteria, typing away in a scientific chat room as she dug into a peanut butter, salami, Pixie Stick and Corn Pop sandwich.

Someone was staring at her.

Looking up, she saw it was a read haired woman with green wireframes, lime green hoop earrings and a sleeveless blouse the color of a poker table.

Lottie narrowed her eyes, racking her brain to remember why the woman looked familiar.

She seemed a bit odd, lacking the usual books and paperwork marking her as a student or faculty. She carried no laptop, or even a lunch. She supposed the woman could be a parent, but it still seemed a bit off.

When their eyes met, the strange woman waved like she were greeting a child experiencing their first day in kindergarten.

Lottie rolled her eyes in annoyance. Who was this? A reporter?

The woman stood up, walking to her table.

She smiled. "Mind if I sit here?"

"Sure," Lottie smirked. "If you don't mind my friend sitting next to you."

Seated at a table behind her was a muscular looking Hopi woman with a studded black biker's jacket.

So she wasn't completely alone.

The moment Lottie nodded to her, she got up, thundering into a chair next to the redhead visitor with enough clanking and chain rattling to make Marley's ghost jealous.

The woman didn't blink. She just pulled back a chair and settled in.

"Honey, you don't scare me," the woman said. "I come from New Yawk."


	6. Chapter 6: Preparations

Schwann and his new companion stood in the school hallway, near a door marked "104: HISTORY". The dogs had been deposited inside the room, barking and whining and knocking over desks, ruining the finish on the door as they scratched to get out.

"I want you to familiarize yourself with this as quickly as you can," Mr. Tulley said as Schwann strapped a giant sized piece of machinery over his back. "This is called a _Proton Pack_. Keep in mind that it's actually a small nuclear reactor."

Schwann started. "Shouldn't I be wearing lead shielding when I have this on?"

The little guy shrugged. "I think that's what's lining the casing, but don't quote me on that. The thing already weighs a ton. I can't imagine what it would be like wearing a lead suit along with it."

"Still, I'd feel safer."

"I hear you, but if you've ever tried lugging one of these things up a flight of stairs..."

He frowned, jotting something down on a little memo pad. "Come to think of it, this definitely needs to be brought up at the next meeting. I've been carrying this machinery around for ages. If it turns out there is no shielding, someone is going to be talking to my attorney."

"That makes two of us," Schwann muttered. "Can I borrow yours?"

Tulley gave him a pained smile. "Feldman and Associates unfortunately have very little experience with class action suits."

"Never mind."

He flipped a red switch on a fancy looking laser cannon clutched in his right hand, his thumb hovering over a shiny button as the equipment let out a high pitched whine.

Tulley quickly yanked it from his hands, looking horrified. "Whoa! Careful where you point that!"

"It's a little late to start practicing," said Schwann.

"I guess we'll figure out something. At the very least, I think we can write off the property damages if we say this is a pro bono operation. This is technically a religious institution, so I think we can work the nonprofit angle pretty well. Did you say you had a PKE Meter?"

Schwann pulled out his phone, but it was dead. "Damn. And I had it on the charger all night!"

"We don't even know if it's a ghost yet. Maybe it won't matter."

Schwann threw open the classroom door. "Time for Plan B."


	7. Chapter 7: J Jimnez

Sherl's was a run down hole-in-the-wall sort of establishment. Located in south Kansas City, and notorious for supplying food for the local sheriff's lock-up, it was the last place in the world a professional employer would use for hosting a job interview. But stranger things have happened.

The restaurant had the floor plan of a Waffle House, without the bright colors. A long coffee bar running alongside the main entrance, and smaller booths lining the sides. Old men with no taste buds and fat blue collar workers with hangovers occupied most of the grimy tables. One of the men waved aside a pesky fly again and again as it landed on different spots in his chicken fried steak.

In a back corner booth of this dingy gray restaurant, a black man in a polo and slacks puffed on a cigarette, eyes searching the front entrance for the tenth time since he'd arrived and ordered a very bland tasting chicken plate.

Flicking a cockroach off the table, he checked his watch, frowned, and tapped his ashes into an ashtray.

He heard the door chimes ringing a moment after he ordered a slice of lemon meringue.

Looking up, he saw a squatty Mexican man in a rumpled dress shirt and baggy brown pants shuffling into the room. At first, he thought he was just another shabby customer, but the man approached his table.

"Hello," the stranger said. "Weenston...Zedamore? Yes?"

The black man nodded, smoothing his close cropped curly hair. "You're late."

The Mexican laughed nervously, seating himself without being asked to. "Mucho sorry, señor. I had engine trouble. I had to call my sister, you know?"

Winston shook his head in annoyance. "Jesus, right?"

"The name is pronounce `Hayzoos.' Jesús Jimnez."

Winston took a drag on his cigarette. "Right. Jesus." He still failed to pronounce it correctly. "So, uh...I realize this isn't the most professional environment, but we don't have a building yet, and this is one of the few places where I can smoke and eat indoors."

"Tis okay, señor."

Winston took another drag, thinking that he really shouldn't apologize about unprofessionalism to a man in rumpled clothing that shows up late to a job interview.

"I was recommended here by Labormax. They said it would last a day."

"Well, we uh, might need you a bit longer than that, actually."

"It is my lucky day then! How much overtime can I get?"

"Uh...let's go over the preliminaries first." He dug a folded piece of paper out of his pocket, examining it. Brushing ashes off the Ghostbusters logo on his shirt breast, he said, "Admittedly, this isn't the best resume I've ever seen, but it says you're bilingual, you have some mechanical skills, and you assisted in an exorcism."

"Yes, señor," Jesús nodded. "But new foreign cars..." He shook his head. "No es easy with computadoras. Muchas electronicas, I no can do. But I clean, no? Run floor buffer?" He made motions like he were pushing a stick. "Mop?"

Winston rubbed his face. "Truthfully, Jesus, we don't have that much need of a janitor. I know that's what you wrote on your application, but we don't even have a building yet."

"Ah, sí. You will call me?"

The interviewer just rolled his eyes. "Look, Jesus. We need another kind of help. We need you to be flexible, or you can just leave right now."

Jesús shrunk in his chair. "I am mucho flexible, señor."

"Listen, can you run up and down stairs with reasonable accommodation?"

"¿Como?" Jesús gave him a blank look. "Repitan usted, por favor."

Winston drummed his fingers on the table in annoyance. "Man, what I said was, can you run up and down stairs with a big heavy backpack without a problem?"

"Ay, sí. This something you do a lot of?"

"I'd say so. It says on your file that you're a fire fighter."

"Was, señor. Volunteer fireman in Belize. You know Belize?"

"Yeah," Winston groaned. "Tiny place. A friend of mine parked his car there once and they stole all the tires off of it."

"Sí, sí. Lo siento for so amigo. Mucho bad people, but also some good...and very poor. After hurricane, I come here."

"But you were a fire fighter."

"Sí. One time." He glanced back and forth, as if afraid to be overheard. "I see things, señor. While I fight fire, I see El Diablo, and he look me in the eyes and say to me, `You let this house burn. It is mine.'"

Winston frowned. "So you let it burn."

"No, señor. I put it out, but fire come back. I come back second time with Padre Pio to bless casa malvado, you know?"

"I see. So you know something about ghosts and spirits, then."

Jesús crossed himself. "No, señor. I am too afraid."

"But not afraid enough to put out the devil's fire."

"Señor, devil was in house, and I was only outside with hose. ¿Comprendé?"

Winston shook his head. "Whatever."

Before he could say something more, Jesús blurted, "When I hear the dogs barking in vecinadad, I no go outside, porque el muerte es waiting for me, sí?"

"Uh, no."

"Es a good paying job, sí o no?"

"Uh, sí."

"Then I will _make myself_ brave!"

He offered his hand.

Winston didn't take it. "The interview's not over. Be seated."

Jesús retracted the gesture and did what was requested.

Winston stared at the man's neck, examining the shape of a confusing round outline. "What's that you got on your neck?"

Jesús touched the tattoo. "Ah, it is Maria, Madre del Crísto, señor. ¿Comprendé?"

"Uh...yeah." He squinted, betraying the fact he wasn't fluent in Spanish. The meaning presented itself as he made out the stylized rays of divine light always associated with the image. "Virgin Mary. Got it. What's your wife think of that?"

"Oh señor, she loves it."

Winston laughed. "Okay then." He cleared his throat. "Do you have any questions for me?"

"No, señor."

"Any questions about the company?"

"No, señor. I hear about Nuevo York. You catch ghosts, no?"

"Uh...sí." He sighed. "Is your contact information all correct and up to date?"

Jesús looked flustered. "Sí, pero, it is my sister's phone. I no can afford one. Tis okay?"

"Honestly, I don't care if it's a string and a tin can, as long as you can answer it if and when we call."

"This a joke, señor?"

"More like an exaggeration." He frowned. "If I see you stringing up a tin can to my window, I will personally kill you."

Jesús was unperturbed. "I no have lunch. Es okay if I order, señor?"

"Knock yourself out. I'm leaving."

"I shake hands now?"

Winston nodded, and they did so. "I can't make any promises, but you're the only candidate I've met today who wasn't a total nutjob. If we want you, we'll call you back for a second interview. If you don't receive a call in about a week or so, good luck on your other career endeavors."

The Mexican flipped open the menu, staring at the list of entrees.

Winston's waitress chose this moment to bring him his slice of pie. "Coconut cream, right?"

He scowled at her. "No, I asked for lemon meringue."

"I'm sorry," the woman said. "We were out of lemon. Would you like vanilla cream?"

"Forget it," he groaned. "Just give me a check."

Jesús looked up from his menu. "¿Señor? Any recommendations?"

"Yeah," Winston muttered. "Eating somewhere else!"


	8. Chapter 8: Evil Spirits

"Father McGuire!" Tulley called, marching down the hallway.

Shwann jogged to keep up, but it was slightly difficult due to the added weight of the Ghostbusting equipment.

"You know, it's times like these I wish I'd packed more than one Proton pack."

"This thing is heavy," Schwann groaned.

"Like I said before, it's atomic. It probably contains lead. What did you expect?"

Schwann shook his head.

"Where did your ghost seeing dogs go?"

"It's hard to say. Last time they saw a chicken bucket and a stash of drugs."

Tulley scowled at him. "Run that by me again?"

"My dogs are performance artists, Mr. Tulley. When they're in the right mood, they can locate the skeleton of a retarded boy sealed up in a wall and stop a haunting. When they're not..."

He shrugged, leaving the sentence hanging.

Tulley did not look pleased. "What happens when they're not?"

"Well..." Shwann puffed out his cheeks. "Why, they nip old ladies on the leg, knock over trash cans, try to hump the neighbor's dog..."

The little guy shook his head. "Sounds like we're going to need to beef up our legal department."

"Shadow and Baron Somebody are usually dependable. Haint, he's so-so. I'm never too sure about Casper."

"I only saw two dogs."

"Shadow and Baron are at home with my wife."

Tulley rolled his eyes. "You're not exactly filling me with confidence, Mr. Schwann."

"What! I'm a full time English professor. They don't have schools for this kind of stuff."

"You're right about that," Tulley sighed. "At least, not yet."

He shook his head. "So how do we catch up with these mutts?"

"Casper!" he yelled.

He was answered by a single bark.

"They're outside the girl's restroom!" Schwann cried.

"Wow! You actually speak dog?"

Schwann shot Tulley an irritated look, as if to ask if he were mentally challenged. "Why would you even ask that question?"

Tulley shrugged. "I used to be a dog."

"What?"

"I'll explain later. So _how do_ you know they're in the bathroom?"

"I saw a tail around the corner, and there was something strange going on down there the last time I came here. C'mon."

The glowing light under the door and the cowering, growling dogs told them everything.

"Don't fire until there's something to actually fire at," Tulley said. "I'm getting a little tired of explaining frivolous property damages in claims court. I lost five grand in a case one time. Venkmann wasn't there, so I took over. You know Peter, don't you?"

Shwann nodded. "I read the papers." He paused. "I thought you had lawyers."

"I do, but even they don't know what's going on, so I have to interpret. Pete's the go-to guy for saving our butts. I don't have nearly as much charm, but I'm at least learning to work the system like he does. I'll have you know, by setting up operations here, I'm taking on a substantial risk. We can't even find a good liability insurance company to protect our assets. Most of them want to charge enormous fees, which is why we've gone without for so long.

"This is all to explain why we need to be careful. As long as you keep the damages within the site of a genuine apparition, we're in the clear, barring the use of security cameras or other recording devices."

"Right," Schwann nodded with a frown. "No target practice."

Schwann ran up to the girl's restroom door as quickly as the Proton Pack allowed him, kicking open the door.

Hearing a faint scream, the two men rushed in, frowning at a pair of shiny black pennyloafters abandoned on the floor tiles.

Immediately, a ghoulish looking female visage appeared in the mirror, shrieking at them, and a vicious gust of wind blew the door shut.

Shwann was terrified, but he didn't let it show. Instead, he raised the baton attached to the proton pack. "So you just point and shoot, right?"

"Yeah," Tulley muttered nervously. "Point and shoot."

Shwann pushed the button and a glowing beam erupted from the tube, the force of which proving to be so strong that he lost control of his aim. The sink in front of him exploded, sending up a huge geyser of moisture.

"Two thousand dollars worth of damage," said Tulley. "You need to point the beam higher!"

Schwann did so, and the beam made contact with the angry spirit.

The result startled both men.

Instead of doing any damage to the ghost, the beam bounced off the mirror, obliterating the door on one of the stalls.

"That's not supposed to happen," said Tulley. "It's supposed to hit the phantom and immobilize it so we can put it in a trap."

"It's also a mirror," said Schwann. "And mirrors reflect laser beams."

"I'm not sure of the science behind these things, but I'm almost positive they're not actual lasers."

The specter roared, sucking air and small objects through the shiny surface.

Schwann pointed at a toilet paper roll as it vanished inside the mirror. "Someone's desperate for a wipe!"

"Why does that go through and not the energy beam?"

"I don't know." Scwann pushed the button again, and the beam passed through the pane, electrifying the howling face.

The ghost appeared immobilized, shrieking with impotent fury.

"There!" Tulley cried. "You got it! I'll prep the Ecto Trap!"

He unclasped a small striped box from the side of Scwann's Proton Pack, but when he had it removed and ready, the creature exploded in a puff of smoke.

"Hah!" Schwann cried. "We busted it!"

Tulley frowned as he stared at a gaping hole in the mirror. "Uh...call it a hunch, but I wouldn't celebrate just yet."

Beyond the hole, instead of a cinder block wall, Schwann could see stalactites and darkness.

"What the hell is that?"

"A better question is _where_?"


	9. Chapter 9: Fantastic Cavern

As the broken sink sprayed him in the face and dampened his clothing, Schwann leaned close to the hole in the mirror, staring into its depths.

Beyond was a vast cavern, dark and musty smelling, populated by dozens of massive brown stalactites and stalagmites, glistening with moisture.

"Bet you a fifty this isn't in the blueprints."

He backed off the counter, letting Louis climb up on the rim.

The spray misted his glasses so much he took them off. "Could you shut off the water? The valve should be under the sink."

"Where's the fun in that?" Schwann said, but he opened a cabinet door, searching under the waterfall for the pipes.

Knee deep in water, he tossed aside damp rolls of toilet paper, fumbling around until he found the silver lemon shaped knob that generally took care of such things.

Tulley wiped his glasses, sticking his head through the hole to get a better look.

"Oh great!" he cried. "Not another portal to the Nether Realm!" he sighed and shook his head. "First it was the Gozer portal, then that demonic painting..."

The water stopped.

"That cave cuts right through the place where the boy's room should be," Schwann called from under the sink.

"Tell me about it," Tulley muttered.

He squinted into the dark. "You know, this place reminds me of something."

"Yeah? Like what? The Nether Realm?"

"No. I mean, on television. I saw a place like this, and they were doing rides in a mine cart."

"There's lots of caves like that in Missouri."

With a shrug, Tulley put his hands on the opening in the mirror, leaning further into the cave.

"I don't think you should be doing that," Schwann warned as he got to his feet.

"It's okay," Tulley called back. "I don't see anything."

"You wouldn't. Your glasses are foggy."

"At least it's cool! The last Nether Portal I entered-"

He finished the sentence with a scream.

Schwann saw a black hairy claw grab his companion around the torso, dragging him into the depths.

He caught hold of Tulley's foot just seconds before the rest of his body slipped through the hole.

The pull of the claw proved to be twice as powerful as he expected, and he found himself flying through the opening, weighty equipment and all.

The next moments were spent in free fall, tumbling with a scream through the murky shadows.

If he wasn't so concerned with worrying about not landing on a stalagmite or something equally injurious, he would have noticed the hole in the mirror sealing itself, closing off all hope of escape.


End file.
